


Those Who Watch the Stars

by lunabee34 (Lorraine)



Category: Moths - Ouida
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, F/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:41:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28070349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lorraine/pseuds/lunabee34
Summary: A treat for Gloss who requested:  Lady Dolly's second husband is often travelling to "Japan or Jupiter." What if it WAS Jupiter? Some (noncolonialist!) steampunk space travel would be lovely.
Relationships: Raphael de Corrèze/Vere Herbert
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Those Who Watch the Stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gloss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/gifts).



> Title taken from the final chapter of the final volume.

“It’s even more beautiful than I imagined,” Vere says with her nose almost pressed against the glass of the shuttle window. Corrèze can see her reflection superimposed over the closest orbital habitat ring; the tendrils of a storm on Jupiter’s surface color her pale hair in warm ochre and orange and mahogany. Vere looks like the child she was never allowed to be, and Corrèze delights in the wonder and excitement on her face.

For the first year after they were wed, Corrèze and Vere left their home in the Alps of the Valais only to venture into the forest or down the mountain to Sion for necessaries. Vere went for long walks in the morning with Loris, gathering sprigs of fragrant greenery to twist into garlands for the mantelpiece while Corrèze composed his opera. He played the melody he’d written on the piano when she returned and was gratified at her enthusiastic praise. Vere read aloud amusing letters from Fuschia or Nadine over their simple luncheons, and in the afternoons, she resumed the studies she was cruelly denied, discovering an especial interest in astronomy.

After the third time Corrèze caught Vere wistfully watching holos of Saturn’s rings and the undulation of subterranean oceans on Europa, he said, “We could take the amateur scientist’s tour of Jupiter this fall. Your studies will benefit from direct observation, and taking a trip together would be a nice change of pace.” And, Corrèze thought privately, Jupiter is the one tourist destination where we can be certain that we will never accidentally encounter your mother.

Now the small passenger shuttle they boarded in Sion is beginning its descent to a landing platform; once they disembark, Vere and Corrèze will have a day to explore the habitat ring before the week-long, guided exploration of Jupiter’s geography, chromatography, and other attributes begins. Despite his many travels, Corrèze has never visited Jupiter, and he is just as fascinated as Vere with the vendors selling skewers of fried meat and cups of fragrant tea, the historical monuments to various early settlers of the planet located at intervals throughout the ring, the residents dressed in clothes that are a curious amalgamation of last season’s fashions and what Corrèze can only term as space-faring chic. They walk hand-in-hand through the throng of people on the promenade fronting the landing zone, Vere charmed by everything they encounter and Corrèze charmed by Vere. No one recognizes Corrèze, and he is glad.

Their quarters are small with just enough room for a bed, a lavatory, and a small bureau. The orientation of the room in the ring means that all the walls which would typically contain windows are interior. Corrèze is disappointed they will have no view of space or the planet until Vere draws his attention to the room’s control panel.

“Look,” she says, pressing a button. “The instructions say we have a window that remains opaque from the outside when activated.” The bed disappears at her touch. In its place is a starfield, the window that Corrèze has been missing.

Vere makes a startled noise and attempts to examine the newly revealed window more closely but runs into some invisible object. “How clever,” she says, running her hands over the surface the bed once occupied. “The bed has been made transparent rather than removed. I wonder how this was accomplished.”

Corrèze can see that she is about to begin searching the DataCore for schematics, so he presses his lips to the nape of her neck and kisses her gently. She shivers and turns to face him, winding her arms about him and kissing him back with an intensity he would never have imagined before they married. In truth, Corrèze never allowed himself to imagine anything about Vere in those dark years when she was married to Zouroff. He put her high on a pedestal—remote, aloof, forbidden—and resolutely did not think of her pale bosom, the slim column of her throat, the delicate tracery of veins on her wrists. When they did marry, Corrèze prepared himself for the possibility that their union might forever remain solely an emotional and spiritual one, that Vere might never desire him physically after the damage done to her by that brute.

Once again, Vere shows him just how misguided his fears were. He plays maid and slowly undresses her, peeling her out of lawn and muslin and lace until she is bare and trembling before him. She falls back on the invisible bed, her fair limbs almost glowing against the fathomless, black backdrop of the cosmos.

Corrèze puts his mouth on her beautiful skin, licks up the marble of her thighs, strokes the alabaster flatness of her belly with his fingertips. Vere makes the most wonderful noises when he touches her—breathy moans and little pants and whispers of his name. The adulation of the entire solar system was never as sweet as his name become a plea on his wife’s lips.

But Vere is not content merely to be touched; as always, she is impatient to touch Corrèze in turn. Her teeth graze the edge of his scar while her busy hands stroke him into hardness, and Corrèze shivers beneath her. When Corrèze finally slides into Vere’s body, she is delicious, liquid heat. As they move together, the stars shine on behind them, a vast canvas of diamonds. Corrèze is overwhelmed with the sensation that he is falling into inky depths, into infinity.

When they are both sated, Vere curls into him and rests her head on his chest. “With such a view and such company,” she says, “I am almost tempted to forgo the tour in favor of staying in our cabin all week.”

Corrèze smiles into her hair. “Ah, yes, my dear, but only almost.”

Vere laughs aloud. “True. You know me well, dear husband.”

They fall asleep on a bed of sky with a blanket of starlight spread under them, Vere’s hand splayed over Corrèze’s heart and their breath drifting slowly into sync.


End file.
